Taking advantage of the incursion
of the June bugs, Jim withdrew in good order, and
Bessie shortly after retired with her tin candlestick.

“Do you seriously intend to
allow that pair of incompatibles to go off to-morrow
looking for old furniture and antiquated household
implements?” asked Jill.

“Most certainly I do. It
will he the greatest fun in the world. I only
wish we could go as invisible spectators; but, on the
whole, we shall best enjoy imagining what they will
say or do if left to their own devices, knowing, as
we should, that our presence would prevent some of
their wildest absurdities. I’m awfully sorry
they are not going to build and furnish a house somewhere
in this vicinity, according to their combined notions.”

“And I am extremely sorry you
cannot take your thoughts from Bessie long enough
at least to hear the conclusion of Aunt Melville’s
letter.”

“My dear, like John Gilpin,
‘of womankind I do admire but one.’
I shall listen with undivided attention to whatever
you lay before my ears. Pray go on.”

“’I was fortunate enough
to get a drawing of the interior of the reception
hall, which, while it is simple and inexpensive, is
also dignified and impressive. Houses often resemble
people, and you will easily recall among your friends
certain ones who, without being either wealthy
or brilliant, are still very impressive.
The other rooms which we visited are ample for your
needs, as you will find it far more advantageous to
entertain but few people at a time, and those of
the best society, than to have larger and more
indiscriminate gatherings. The amount of
room in the house is surprising; but that, of
course, is because it is so nearly square.’”

“That is feminine logic.
A man would have said that the size of a house determines
the amount of room it contains.”

“Undoubtedly he would; but it
does not,” said Jill, decidedly. “I
can show you houses that look large and are
large, that make great pretensions in point of style,
that cost a great deal of money, and yet have no room
in them. They have no place for the beds to stand,
no room for the doors to swing, no room for a piano,
no room for a generous sofa, no room for the book-cases,
no room for easy stairs, no room for fireplaces, no
room for convenient attendance at the dining-table,
no room for wholesome cooking, no room for sick people,
no room for fresh air, no room for sunlight, no room
for an unexpected guest. They have plenty of
rooms, apartments, cells but no real, generous,
comfortable house room.”

“I suppose Aunt Melville refers
to the mathematical fact that a house forty feet square
contains more cubic feet than the same length of walls
would hold in a more elongated or irregular shape.”

“By the same rule an octagon
or circle would be better still, which is absurd.
No; her feminine logic is no worse than yours, and
no better. The amount of room a house contains
depends neither upon its size nor its shape.
Her analogy, too, is at fault when she implies that
the outside of a house bears the same relation to
the interior that clothing bears to the person who
wears it. The art of the tailor and dressmaker
has at present no other test of merit than fashion
and costliness, elements to which real art, architectural
or otherwise, is always and absolutely indifferent.
The external aspect of the house should be the natural
spontaneous outgrowth of its legitimate use and proper
construction, as face, form and carriage express the
character of each individual.”

Jill spoke with unwonted seriousness
and a wisdom beyond her years. Even Jack was
impressed for the moment, and expressed a wish to tear
down some of the ornamental appendages from his own
house. “The piazzas are well enough that
is, they would be if they were twice as wide but
the observatory is good for nothing, because nobody
can get into it to observe, unless he crawls along
the ridge-pole, and I never did know what all that
mess of wooden stuff under the eaves and about the
windows was for. I suppose it was intended to
give the house a richer look.”

“Yes, it enriches it just as
countless rows of puffs, ruffles and flounces, made
of coarse cotton cloth with a sewing machine and piled
on without regard to grace or comfort, would ‘enrich’
a lady’s dress.”

“I thought you objected to the dress anology?”

“I do, positively, but it appears
to have been the theory accepted by modern architects
almost universally. I don’t see. Jack,
that your house is any worse than others in this respect,
and I have no doubt it will ‘sell’ all
the better for the superfluous lumber attached to the
outside walls.”

“Thank you, my dear! That
is the first good word you have spoken for it.
Well, there is one comfort; I am convinced that you
didn’t commit the reprehensible folly of marrying
me for my house.”

“No, indeed, Jack. It was
pure devotion; a desperate case of elective affinity.”

“And yet we are happily married!
We shall never do for the hero and heroine
of a modern romance. There isn’t a magazine
editor or a book publisher that would look at us for
a moment.”

“Let us be thankful and finish our
letter.

“’I am anxious, as you know,
my dear niece, that you should, begin life in
a manner creditable to the family, and I trust you
will allow no romantic or utilitarian notions to prevent
your conforming to the requirements of good society.
This house, in all such respects, will be perfectly
satisfactory. I have bought the plans for
you from the owner, and I hope you will accept
them with my best wishes.’

“And that is all, this time.
Aunt Melville’s notion of a house seems to be
a place for entertaining the ‘best society.’
Her zeal is certainly getting the better of her conscience
and judgment. She cannot honestly buy the plans
from the owner of the house, because he never owned
them; they belong to the architect, and she ought
to know better than to advise the use of material
that would have to be brought at great expense from
a long distance. If cobble-stones and boulders
were indigenous in this region, and old stone fences
could be had for the asking, I should like to use
them, but they are not. It is also evident that
she did not penetrate far into the interior of the
house or she would have discovered an unpardonable
defect the absence of ‘back’
stairs. I do not think it very serious in such
a plan, where the one flight is near the centre of
the house and is not very conspicuous, but Aunt Melville
would lie awake nights if she knew there were no back
stairs for the servants.”

The next morning Jim appeared with
the express wagon, and Bessie climbed upon the high
seat beside him under the big brown umbrella, her
Gainsborough hat encircled with a garland of white
daisies, huge bunches of the same blossoms being attached
somewhat indiscriminately to her dress by way of imparting
a rural air, and together they drove off in search
of old and forgotten household gods. Jill had
suggested sending them out to investigate, reporting
what they found, and purchasing afterward if thought
best, but Jack urged that it would be wiser to secure
their treasures at once, lest the thrifty farmers,
finding their old heir-looms in demand, should mark
up the prices while they were deliberating a
view with which Bessie fully concurred.

Beguiling the way with the duet that
is always so delightful to the performers, whatever
the audience may think of it, they followed the pleasant
country roads for many miles without finding a castle
that seemed to promise desirable plunder. A worn-out
horseshoe lying in the road was their first prize.
It presaged good luck, and was to be gilded and hung
above the library door. At length they came to
a typical old farm-house, gray and weather-beaten,
but still dignified and well cared for. The big
barns stood modestly back from the highway, and the
yard about the front door, enclosed by a once white
picket fence, was filled with the fragrance of cinnamon
roses and syringas. As they drove up at the side
of the house across the open lawn, the close cropping
of which showed that the cows were wont to take their
final bite upon it as they came to the yard at night,
they encountered an elderly man carrying a large jug
in one hand and apparently just starting for the fields
with some refreshing drink for the workmen.

“Good morning, sir,” said
Jim, touching his hat. Bessie smiled and asked,
“Are you the farmer?”

“Wal, yes ma’am; I suppose
I am. Leastways I own the farm and get my living
off from it as well as I can same as my
fathers did afore me.”

“How lovely! Have you got
any old I mean, can you give us a drink
of water? We we happen to be passing
and we’re very thirsty.”

“Just as well as not. The
well is right behind the house. You can jump
down and help yourselves.”

“You don’t mean jump down the well,”
said Jim, laughing.

“Not exactly. Will your horse stand?”

“Oh, yes.”

When Bessie saw the old well-sweep,
which for some unaccountable reason had not been swept
away by a modern pump, she exclaimed in a stage whisper:
“Wouldn’t it be glorious if we could carry
it home?”

Jim found the cool water most refreshing
and thought he would rather carry home the well.

“What an enormous wood pile,”
Bessie continued aloud, in a desperate endeavor to
lead up to andirons by an unsuspicious route.
“Do you burn wood?”

“Not so much as we used to.
The women folks think they must have it to cook with,
but we use coal a good deal in the winter.”

“Don’t you have fireplaces?”
was the next innocent question.

“Plenty of ’em in the
house, but they’re mostly bricked up. It
takes too big a wood pile to keep ’em going.”

“So you use stoves instead;
I suppose it is less trouble. Oh, and that reminds
me, have you any old andirons, anywhere around?”

“Shouldn’t be surprised
if there was. Yes, there’s one now, hangin’
on the gate right behind you.”

Bessie, as she afterwards declared,
was almost ready to faint at this announcement, but
on turning to look she saw indeed, hanging by a chain
to keep the gate closed, a dumpy, rusty, cast-iron
andiron.

“Should you be willing to sell
it for old brass? Isn’t there a mate to
it somewhere? They generally go in pairs, don’t
they?”

“No, I shouldn’t want
to sell it for old brass, because you see it’s
iron. Most likely there was a pair of ’em
once, but there’s no tellin’ where t’other
one is now. Maybe in the suller and maybe in the
garret.”

“Please could we go up in the
garret and look for it? We will be very careful.”

The worthy man, considerably puzzled
to know what sort of angels he was entertaining unawares,
obtained permission from the “women folks,”
sent a boy off with the jug of drink and showed his
callers to the topmost floor of the house.

“Oh, oh! If there isn’t
a real spinning-wheel. This passes my wildest
anticipations,” murmured Bessie to Jim; then,
restraining her enthusiasm for fear of spoiling a
bargain, she inquired aloud: “Do any of
your family spin?”

“No, no; not now-a-days.
My old mother vised to get the wheel out now and then,
when I was a youngster, but it’s broke now and
part of it is lost.”

“Would you sell it?”

“If it isn’t all here ”
Jim began, but Bessie checked him and eagerly accepted
the old wheel, which had lost its head and two or three
spokes, for the moderate sum of one dollar.

Rummaging among old barrels, Jim found
the missing half of the pair of andirons. One
broken leg seemed to add to its value in Bessie’s
eyes and she quickly closed a bargain for them at
fifteen cents, which their owner, after “hefting”
them, “guessed” would be about their value
for old iron. One old chair, minus a back and
extremely shaky as to its legs, and another that had
lost a rocker and never had any arms, were secured
for a nominal price, and Bessie’s attention was
then attracted to a tall wooden vessel hooped like
a barrel, but more slender, “big at the bottom
and small at the top,” which proved to be an
old churn. Jim objected to this until his companion
explained how it could be transformed by a judicious
application of old gold and crimson into a most artistic
umbrella stand, while the “dasher” would
make a striking ornament for the hall chimney-piece.
As they were about to depart with their treasures,
the honest farmer invited them to look at a ponderous
machine five or six feet high and nearly as broad a
horrid monster, misshapen and huge, that stood in
the back chamber over the wood-shed. It was a
cheese-press. “How magnificent!” whispered
Bessie, and then, turning to their host, inquired “Do
you use it every day?”

“Oh, law, no! Hain’t
used it this twenty years. Make all the cheese
at the factory. It’s kind of a queer old
thing and I thought maybe you would like to see it.
’Tain’t likely you will ever see another
just like it.”

“Would you be willing to sell it?”

“Of course, I’d be willing
enough, only it don’t seem just right to sell
a thing that ain’t good for anything but firewood.
However, if you really want it you may have it for
a dollar and a-half, and I’ll have the hired
men load it up for you.”

“Now, really, Miss Bessie,”
said Jim, when the farmer had gone to call the men,
“don’t you think it’s rather a clumsy
affair? We can hardly get it into the express
wagon, and I don’t see where they can put it
if we carry it home.”

“Clumsy! no, indeed, it’s
massive, it’s grand! There
will be plenty of room in the new house. They
will have one entire room for bric-a-brac.”

“But what can they do
with it? They won’t make cheese.”

“Can’t you see what a
delicious cabinet it will make? These posts
and things can all be carved and decorated, and it
will be perfectly unique. There isn’t
such a cabinet in the whole city of New York.
Oh, I think our trip has been an immense success
already. I shall always believe in horseshoes
after this; but isn’t it a pity we can’t
carry home the well-sweep?”

The huge machine had to be taken from
the shed chamber in sections, but was properly put
together again in the wagon by the hired men, and made
the turnout look like a small traveling juggernaut.
Just before starting: Bessie espied, leaning
against the fence, a hen-coop from which the feathered
family had departed, and explaining to Jim that if
the sides were painted red and the bars gilded it would
be a charming ornament for the front porch, persuaded
him to add that to their already imposing load.
Then they departed, leaving the farmer and his men
in doubt whether to advertise a pair of escaped lunatics
or accept their visitors as “highly cultured”
members of modern society.

When they reached home Jack had just
come in from the office. He looked out of the
window as they drove up, felt his strength suddenly
give way, and rolled on the floor in convulsions.

“Less than five dollars for
the whole lot, did you say, Jim? I wouldn’t
have missed seeing that load for fifty.”

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